


A Family Legacy of Martyrs

by MusicalTogekiss



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalTogekiss/pseuds/MusicalTogekiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamadas die young.</p>
<p>The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Hamadas die young.  How else are they going to go, when their only example are the fathers and brothers who leave too early to teach them otherwise.  </p>
<p>Alternatively:  In Which family history keeps repeating and Hiro is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family Legacy of Martyrs

**A Family Legacy of Martyrs**

 

Hamada’s die young.

Hiro doesn’t remember the first time he heard it, but it is accepted as superstition and fact, both. He believes it, if only because Tadashi is dead at twenty and their parents died in their early 30s. Once, when he was even tinier, Hiro had asked about their grandparents. Aunt Cass had smiled and laughed as she told stories of “that crazy Hamada boy” and his saint of a wife. Her ending story was of how grandpa Hamada had died saving a little boy from drowning and granny Hamada had never recovered, living long enough for her son to grow up, and then dying peacefully in her sleep.

Tadashi hadn’t believed in the myth, said that Hamada’s could go so far in life if they just stopped with the self sacrifice, had held on to that truth until the very night he died for someone else, himself.

For Hiro, it’s just a fact of life. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Hamadas die young. How else are they going to go, when their only example are the fathers and brothers who leave too early to teach them otherwise. If teaching was done by example, each and every one of them were self-sacrificing martyrs. Hiro had thought he’d break the curse, so to speak. That he’d die young, but from something selfish, like bot-fighting or speeding on his inherited moped.

It’s the farthest from the truth.

He’s sixteen and dying, splayed out on the concrete of a crumbling warehouse, watching the colours fade away around him as he bleeds out. There is a little girl somewhere nearby, who is safe in her grateful parent’s arms; safe from the hostage situation she had been in, safe from the knife in Hiro’s gut and the bloody wound on his head.

He can’t see her, but he hears her crying, and Hiro’s heart lurches in his chest. She’s only around five years old and she’ll grow up knowing what death is. He wishes he could save her from that, too, but he’s so cold and he can’t move through the fading light and the wet, slick ground to get to her.

He’s dying and it hurts.

Vaguely, he wonders if Tadashi felt like this, cold and lost and maybe sad, or if he died too fast to feel anything at all. There wasn’t enough left of his body to identify cause of death, whether it be smoke inhalation or falling beams or the fire itself. Maybe Tadashi had screamed in pain as he died and Hiro feels like he has no room to complain about his own death. At least he had had the past two years to think on it, to prepare.

(He wasn’t prepared.)

There is a shadow falling upon his dimlit world and Hiro blinks dry eyes at Baymax, the robot faux-blinking back.

“Oh no,” the companion said, and it had been two years of learning, two years of following Hiro around and fighting for peace and being a personal healthcare companion and by now, those two words have tone and meaning behind them.

“Hiro, your wounds are extensive. I am unequipped to heal you from such damage,” the AI says, puffy marshmallow hands reaching forward to touch Hiro’s hair in a soft pat( _there, there, it will be all right_ ). Hiro huffs a breathy, shallow laugh and twitches his left hand to tap Baymax’s stubby legs.

“Blood loss…and…abdominal wound. Think…think it’s to-too …late, anyways,” the teen manages. He knows science, and he’s learned biology since inheriting Baymax. He knows how much blood is in the human body and how much can be safely lost. Additionally, he knows the symptoms of blood loss, and he feels every one of them.

“Hiro,” his best friend says, and there is hesitancy in his voice, emotion where there used to be none, “please tell me how I can help you.”

“Just….hug me,” is breathed out, and Baymax gently curls his vinyl hands under Hiro’s body, lifting and cradling the boy genius close. It’s a familiar feeling, being held alongside giving vinyl that heats up against his skin. It’s comfort and love and reassurance that he isn’t alone.

Baymax is here.

There is a stir in the background, noises and distant wailing, and Hiro blinks up at his guardian’s plush face. Baymax’s optics zoom in and out, probably recording Hiro’s vitals, his very last moments, before they focus in on the teen’s face. “Hiro,” the companion robot says, “I cannot stop your bleeding.”

“I…I know,”Hiro mumbles, and he smiles vaguely upwards. His vision is worse, now, and all he sees is a shadow where Baymax’s head should be. “You don’t …have to. Maybe….hospital can…help…b-but…too long…I think.” He tilts his head into the soft body holding him and lets out a sigh. What a day to be a civilian, no armor in sight. “Tell them…I was h-happy. And I-I tried…be…wha Tada-hi…w-wanted me….t’be.”

“Hiro, your brother would be proud of you,” Baymax states firmly. “As I am proud to serve you.”

Hiro smiles through bloody teeth. The far-off wailing has come closer, and it reminds him of those days when he was tiny and cold and wouldn’t leave Tadashi alone because he didn’t want to be left behind too.

This time, it is himself who is doing to leaving.

“Tell….tell girl…s’ry. Live…good life…smile,” Hiro chokes out through a gasp of vivid and all encompassing pain. He sees a familiar baseball capped head leaning over him, a clear picture in all the fog. A callused hand reaches forward and, slowly and haltingly, Hiro reaches back. “’M…satisfied….with…m’care…Bay…max,” he manages, and then his hand is being held in the grip of his brother and Hiro can’t see or hear anything except,

“Goodbye, Hiro. Thank you, for teaching me how to live.”

* * *

 

_Hey, knucklehead._

_Hey, nerd._

_You sure do like to one-up me, huh?_

_You know I’ll always beat your records._

_But sixteen, really?_

_At least I didn’t run into a burning building_.

Somewhere, there is a little girl who remembers a boy and his bloody smile, a robot and his last message. She remembers to live and to smile and one day, she will save someone else, just as she was saved. But she is a smart girl. She learns how to save a life without losing hers. And the curse, if ever there was one, is truly broken.

He was the last Hamada; there is no one left to die.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is my first fanfiction in, oh, ten years? And of course it's a death fic. What am I doing with my life?!
> 
> The story is a slightly (alot) disjointed, because I wanted it to be more of a "stream of consciousness". That doesn't excuse the very end, though, but I have slaved over that forever and since I have no-one to coach me about it, I'm posting as-is. At least I can say I tried. >=(
> 
> On another note, it is totally my head canon that Hiro will die young. "Someone has to help" is literally the last words his older brother, his idol, his very ROCK said to him, and we see what Hiro ends up doing later (I'm looking at YOU, transdimensional portal scene). I find it very real to think that Hiro will throw himself into those type of situations again and again until he hits one time too many. He's Immortal, just not for very long.
> 
> Anyways, feel free to comment. Just...let me know how I did. *shrug*


End file.
